


Holiday Knights

by UnapologeticallyMeatwad



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily (DCU) Fluff, Christmas, Crack Taken Seriously, Fluff, Gen, Mutual Aid, References to Batman: The Animated Series and other batman things I like, Socialism, lots of cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnapologeticallyMeatwad/pseuds/UnapologeticallyMeatwad
Summary: One month ago, Bruce Wayne came to a conclusion: Batman is not working. He is escalating violence rather than stopping it. He is bringing out the worst in people instead of their best. So he makes a choice.Batman is no more, and for the time being, Bruce Wayne is Santa Claus.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Bruce Wayne, Jim Gordon & Bruce Wayne
Kudos: 11





	Holiday Knights

**Author's Note:**

> lol
> 
> I'm using images as dividers instead of the usual, it looks better on a laptop/tablet but it's fine on mobile too. : ) happy holidays. wrote this in pretty much one go.

Snow falls over Gotham, Commissioner Gordon’s breath appearing as white mist in the air. He approaches The Batman slowly and cautiously, with some apprehension. He’s alone. 

Gordon used to bring whole galleries of cops with him. Good cops. They’re all gone now. Left the force. Only one willing to try to make this thing work is Gordon, and he’s failing.

“I don’t actually have much for you tonight,” Jim says, turning away from Batman to turn off the Signal. “Supervillain crime has been really slowing down, hasn’t it?”

“ _Hn_ ,” Batman grunts.

Robin, only a little more than half the height of the Dark Knight, steps forward with crossed arms. “So what do you want from us then, old man?”

Batman stares down at Damien, blank gaze sharpening fast.

“Ahem, apologies,” Robin recovers fast. “We’ve just been very busy.”

“Doing what?” Jim asks with the hint of a smile. “Anyways, all I have for you is we’ve got reports of some B&Es in the Narrows.”

Batman suddenly perks up with interest. 

Jim notices and continues, “Seems harmless right now… whoever it is, I’m thinking it’s a network of people, they just leave gifts for the homes they break into. There’s some reports of shadowy figures on rooftops, going through chimneys and fire escapes and windows, but…”

Robin can’t even stifle his giggle. “You called us over here… to ask us to catch _Santa Claus?_ ”

Jim blushes, “I wouldn’t call them Santa but—”

Though it is imperative at all times that Batman only say Batman-ly things, he cannot help himself: “This is almost certainly a Santa Claus case, and not an operation we’ll be looking into. Perhaps this sort of operation is something the three of us can all look into doing.”

“Ha,” Jim barks a laugh. “With crime this slow? I think so—” He turns back to face the crime fighters only to find that they have already left. “—geez, how do I fall for this every time?”

Several buildings away, Batman speedwalks towards his next destination, Robin dogging at his heels.

Robin tugs on Batman’s cape to get him to stop, which only earns him: “Not a word.”

“Oh come on,” Robin groans, elbowing Batman in the gut. 

Batman stops in place, looks down at his ward, and smiles. In fact, he laughs.

“Okay,” Batman says slowly. “This is objectively very funny.”

One month ago, Bruce Wayne came to a conclusion: Batman is not working. He is escalating violence rather than stopping it. He is bringing out the worst in people instead of their best. So he makes a choice.

Batman is no more, and for the time being, Bruce Wayne is Santa Claus.

But it’s not a sustainable operation. As much joy as it brings him, he doesn’t know what will come next.

Batman immediately pulls off his cowl the moment he steps into the cave. A few weeks ago, from the man who uses his Batman voice at all times he is Batmanning, this would’ve turned heads but today the family is so used to it, they don’t even notice. “Damien,” he says softly, noticing the domino mask is still on.

Damien goes red in the face. “I’d prefer to leave it on for a bit longer, Father. I’m not quite as ready as you are to give this all up.”

Bruce Wayne smiles and pats his son on the back. “That’s alright. Move at your own pace.” He kneels down to Damien’s level, which is a strange perspective to see his son from. “Go practice with the others.”

Bruce points to a gym within the cave where Cassandra, Stephanie, and Tim are vaulting their way through a complex obstacle course that offers the best Santa training money can buy. 

Damien just scoffs. “I will practice, but I _objectively_ will be the best Santa of them all. You already know this.”

“Of course,” Bruce laughs, not bothering to say the best Santa Claus is _easily_ Cassandra, even when compared to himself. The moment Damien scurries off, Dick pounds Bruce on the back with a mighty hello.

“How was the old lady?” Dick grins, guiding Bruce over to the Batcomputer where Alfred is hard at work.

“The old lady is aware of this Santa operation,” Bruce says. “But I doubt he’ll figure it out, much less realize it’s me. Though, I have been thinking…”

“...I do think James Gordon would make an _excellent_ Santa Claus, Bruce,” Alfred pivots in his chair to look back, the name _Bruce_ so odd coming from his thin lips. But change is in the air. “Should I arrange a meeting with him and Bruce Wayne?”

“I do think we’re getting to that point, yes,” Bruce says, resting his hands on the back of Alfred’s chair. “How goes the transfers?”

Alfred starts to explain the math to Bruce.

Bruce is embarrassed quite frankly that it took him _this long_ to realize no one should ever have a billion dollars… let alone _eighty_ billion dollars. To keep the operation alive for the next year will likely cost one million by Lucius’ recommendations… and there are exactly nine million three hundred thousand fifty seven people Bruce wants to give to…

...and since Bruce never knows what to buy people, he’s thinking of giving everyone...

“Eight thousand and two dollars, as a check from Bruce Wayne,” Alfred explains. “Should be ready in time for Christmas… ah! How was it with The Joker, incidentally? I keep forgetting to ask.”

“Oh, him?” Bruce frowns. “He was…” His scowl lifts into a devilish smirk. “...quite devastated.”

_“What?!!?!?!” The Joker threw his Bang! flag gun to the warehouse floor with a clatter. “You’re just some rich guy!?”_

_“‘Fraid so,” Bruce smirked._

_“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” the Scarecrow moaned in agony._

_This was supposed to be the night the greatest supervillains in Gotham iced the Bat. Black Mask, Manbat, Killer Croc, the Mad Hatter, and the Penguin all mirrored Scarecrow’s sentiments with outrage._

_“AW COME ON, SERIOUSLY?!” The Riddler shrieked, throwing his silly cane to the ground. “HOW DID I NOT FIGURE THIS OUT—” his hands ran through his hair, knocking his bowler cap loose. “—IT’S JUST SO OBVIOUS!”_

_“For the record,” Bane stepped forward, with his hand in the air. “I figured it out. Did you guys seriously not know?”_

_“NO!” the supervillains screamed._

_Joker stepped forward. “Okay, so now what? You’re quitting?”_

_“Yep,” Bruce crossed his arms._

_“To become Santa Claus.”_

_“You could say that.”_

_“Fuck,” the Joker ran his fingers down his face. “Fuck me in the ass. Alright, boys. Wrap it up. Show’s over. I’m done. I’m not killing Santa Claus.”_

_Scarecrow made a face, and gestured over to Bruce. “Why not?”_

_Suddenly, the Joker flipped the fuck out, “BECAUSE IF YOU KILL SANTA CLAUS YOU HAVE TO BECOME SANTA CLAUS YOURSELF!”_

_No one says anything. Immediately, Joker hesitated. “What? Did you guys not see the movie, The Santa Clause? I was making a reference to the storyline where—eh, fuck it. I’m going to go home and rethink my life.”_

_“Same bro,” Black Mask chides. “You suck Batman!”_

_Bruce just shrugged as the criminal empire of Gotham City imploded overnight._

“Ha,” Alfred laughs sardonically, looking back to the screen. “Anyways, Bruce, the children are ready to train new Santas I think, these people…” He points at a massive list of profiles. “...are all candidates who I think would adore doing this.”

Bruce leans into the screen, checking the profiles quickly. Clark Kent, Oliver Queen, Wally West, Dinah Lance, Selina Kyle, Jimmy Olsen, John Stewart, and so many more. “I trust your judgment, these look good, Alfred. Thank you.”

“I got one more for ya, Bruce,” Dick says, stepping back to reveal a face Bruce hasn’t seen in a long time. 

“Jason,” Bruce gets to his feet immediately, eyes widening. “Hi.”

Jason snorts and shakes his head. He looks good, maybe a little tired, all the leather he’s wearing is certainly an overcompensation to his fatigue… but he looks good. “Hey old man. I heard you were quittin’, huh?”

“Already did,” Bruce says, not sure what else to say to him. Every time he tries to get close, he’s swatted away. 

Jason shrugs. “I want to give this gig a shot. Dick says you need more Santas?”

“We do,” Bruce says quickly. “You know, your bedroom is still open. You could always stay—”

“Already unloaded my shit,” Jason interrupts. “Um, and to be clear, for the record, I’m not doing this because like, I want to be Santa, ya know? I just think this is funny.”

Dick looks to Bruce. “Yo, Bruce. You remember when Jason was Robin, and he went on a mission with me and came home crying because I told him Santa wasn’t real?”

“Fuck you, _Dick_ ,” Jason storms off.

“Clever,” Dick walks backwards, alongside Jason.

Alfred gets out of his chair, moving Bruce along. “A few more things, Barbara and Duke are working on the new Batwing…” 

Bruce looks as he passes by it, and sees the Batwing strung up in lights, a candy cane paint job beginning to cover all of the black. A door opens and Bruce slips through. This is their workshop room where some rehabilitated villains are working on creating supplies as well as decorations. 

Immediately though, Bruce realizes why Alfred brought him here. Arnold Wesker, formerly the Ventriloquist, is here, creating some snack bags, and besides him is Pamela Isely. 

But Isley hasn’t been invited. 

Bruce cannot help but do his typical Batglare, paired with a mighty “Hn.”

Isley looks up. “Hi Bruce—oh, don’t be so scandalized. I was _invited_.”

“By who?” Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Oh wait, no this is obvious, it’s—” He looks across the room and sees Harley, Isley’s girlfriend (who was invited) hangin’ out with…

... _oh_.

“Harvey,” Bruce says stiffly, approaching Two Face. 

Two Face looks up and flips his coin menacingly, as Two Face is wont to do. “ **_Might want to give us some space, Quinn_ ** _._ ” His voice is dark and oily as ever. Harley gets up and struts back to the workshop table. “ **_I heard you were looking for help, Bats._ **” He catches his coin and tosses it up again.

“I am,” Bruce says, crossing his arms. 

“Harv, stop being such a dingus,” Iseley calls out, stepping between the two, hands on her hips. “You were bitching all night—”

“ _ALL NIGHT_!” Harley echoes like she’s Isley’s hype man. 

“—about how people are always giving you stuff, like a fixed face, and you just screw it up every time—”

“ _EVERY TIME!_ ”

“—and for once, you thought it might help you to give things to other people.”

Sometimes Bruce forgets that Harvey and Isley used to date. 

“ **_Well, I was in the mood for it last night,_ ** ” Harvey slouches back. “ **_Let’s see what the coin has to_ **—”

“Yoink!” Harley dives in and snatches the coin away, while Harvey sputters.

Isley quickly moves in for the kill. “No way, I’m sick of you doing that dumb ass shit to weasle out of everything. You’re giving this mutual aid thing a shot!”

Bruce agrees, Harvey does tend to be wiffly waffly. “Wait, mutual aid?”

“Yeah, isn’t that what this is?” Isley says before returning to the table with her girlfriend. 

“Huh, I guess,” Bruce looks back to Harvey. “How comfortable would you be crunching some data out with Alfred? He needs help.”

“ **_Hm_ ** ,” Harvey runs a finger over a bump on his chin. “ **_I haven’t talked to ol’ Alf in so long, Bruce. He still kickin’?_ **”

“He is,” Bruce says softly. “I also need some hands for making meals. You in?”

“ **_Yeah. Why the fuck else would I be here Bruce?_ **”

“I dunno,” Bruce says honestly.

“ **_You’re much smarter when you’re Batman. Alright, let’s get this over with._ **”

It’s always so hard playing dumb when Bruce is in civilian mode with Jim. Pretending not to know someone that well, especially when you really truly care about them, is hard. But that ends today. 

Bruce takes a seat in Jim’s office. He’s already made sure to debug the room overnight so no one can listen in. “I need to talk to you, Jim.”

Jim leans back, eyes glazed over. Clearly, he’s not looking forward to a conversation with the illustrious Bruce Wayne.

Bruce bites his lip. His gut tells him to take this very slowly and speak delicately before finally admitting the truth. But Barbara told him to not do that, and just be blunt. _Dad always has like, fifty questions, about everything,_ she explained. _It’s better to give him time to ask all of them._

Bruce takes in a deep breath, and his voice drops low. “I’m Batman.”

Jim blinks. And then snorts. And then looks away and laughs. Looks back. Raises an eyebrow. _Furrows_ his brow. Laughs again. Hits his knee. And freezes.

“Holy shit,” he says finally.

“Yep,” Bruce leans back. “But I’m also done being Batman. I quit.”

“What?!” Jim would surely spit take if he had water in his mouth. “You’re… wait—”

“I’m quitting being Batman so I can become Santa Claus.”

Jim ends up asking a lot of questions. 

_Why did you pick bats as your motif?_

_Does Barbara know?_

_Hey, that time you crashed your car into my car, and made a joke about drunk driving or whatever, you weren’t drunk at all, were you?! You were doing a Batman thing trying to stop us from getting hit by the even bigger car and_ — _wow WOW._

_Okay, and then, okay. You’re Batman. Who are the Robins? Are they paid? What’s up with the second one? I was pretty sure he’s dead and then he came back and… YOUR BUTLER WAIT! YOUR BUTLER! He helps you, doesn’t he?_

Bruce answers all of these as candidly and patiently as he can, and eventually cuts Jim off because it’s been a half hour. Bruce goes on to explain why he’s doing this, why he doesn’t believe in Batman anymore, why he would rather empower people in Gotham than protect them from evil. “We need community,” he says so firmly. “I have the privilege to help with that in a major way. And I want you to join me.”

Jim’s eyes shine. “And what—be Santa Claus too?”

“Jim, there’s like fifty Santas at the moment, keep up.”

“Right, hey did you ask Superman to—”

“Yes.”

“—that makes sense,” Jim leans back. “This is very fast, and—the police here, they need me.”

“They need to be defunded,” Bruce says a little more bitterly than he’d want to. “The corruption is bad, but the problems go much deeper than that.”

That doesn’t seem to take either, so Bruce gets up. “C’mon. I want to show you something.”

They move out into the office space where the cops are doing their thing, and stop at the vending machine. Bruce takes out his wallet and pulls out a dollar to buy a small bag of spicy hot Cheetos.

“I don’t get it,” Jim says.

“Sh,” Bruce says as the iron spring _slowly_ pushes the bag down the hatch. _Thump_. Bruce picks it up and looks to Jim. “See that dollar I just spent?”

“Yes. Vividly,” Jim drawls.

“Well, I’m no longer a millionaire because of that.”

Jim bites his wet lip and takes Bruce by the hand. “You have me for one night.”

On Christmas Eve, it all goes as planned. With more than one hundred Santas vetted, recruited, and trained, it’s smooth. All throughout the city, checks and other basic survival items are dropped off at people’s homes.

Bruce wishes they had the resources to home-in more on what people actually need aside from the money, but it’s okay for this year. 

The night is mostly stress-free for him. Alfred, Barbara, Mr. Terrific, and J’onn run the mass walkie network with the kids captaining each team.

Bruce’s job is just to drive the modified Batwing over Gotham in the most visible way he can. “Alright,” he says, sliding the megaphone over to Jim in the passenger seat. “You know your line?”

Jim just rolls his eyes, jittering with excitement. He’s been fanboying so hard all night. Hell, he fanboys harder than Tim did his first night.

Bruce gestures to Jim with two fingers when it’s time, and the commissioner leans in and bellows it to the city: “ _HO HO HO! MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERY CHRISTMAS TO ALL! AND TO AAAAAAALL, A GOOD NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!”_

Bruce kills the megaphone and they share a quick high five, sitting in silence for a minute.

Jim is the one to break it. “So where to next?”

“The kitchen.”

Alfred and Harvey run the kitchen with some backseat driving from Isley. Bruce tosses his jacket off, replacing it with an apron. They have to move fast. In an hour, Wayne Manor will be packed with hungry hungry Santas.

Bruce likes it. It’s easy and soothing. Working with his hands on something so… normal, is much better than anything Batman can offer him.

Hopefully, it’s better for everyone else too.

Slowly, Santas begin to trickle in. Unsurprisingly, Cassandra Cain is the first Santa to finish and Wally West is the last. 

Two minutes after Cassandra enters Wayne Manor to a round of applause, Damien runs in and in his bliss, doesn’t notice that Cassandra already arrived. (No one breaks it to him and lets him enjoy his moment. He _did_ go faster than Superman after all.)

Each Santa has their own story about special moments that happened. Bruce wishes he could have been there for all of them.

Stephanie got caught by a five year old in a group home, and had to play a game of rock-paper-scissors with them to swear the child to secrecy.

Dick bumped into way more ex-girlfriends and boyfriends than he would have liked, and was very grateful for his Santa get-up.

Clark got held up by an army of cats that’s meows would have blown his cover, leading him to petting all twenty of them at once until they fell asleep in bliss.

The one that gets Bruce the most emotional is Jason. Jason shows up second-to-last, a full half hour after B’wana Beast finds his way back. Which is why Bruce spends a full half hour worrying.Why is Jason so late? Did he get into trouble?

So Bruce waits alone in the hallway. The kids try to stay with him but he waves them off, telling them to enjoy the night.

When Jason does show up, Bruce can’t help but give his son a tight hug. “Hey, hey, old man. Cool it, easy now. Everyone’s chowin’ right now, yeah? I’m fucking starving.”

“Yeah,” Bruce pulls back. “Sorry, I thought something happened to you.”

“Nah,” Jason brushes Bruce off. “I just noticed at my last house that the lady had a leaky faucet. So I figured I might as well try to fix it and…”

“You got caught?”

“Yeah, she was cool about it. She had me fix a bunch of other shit, and I have her number now in case she needs anything. But uh, if anybody asks—”

“—you were late because some villain tried to take over the world and you were the only one to notice—”

“—yeah, tell them it was Darkseid. Dude’s a fuckin’ punk,” Jason laughs, walking over to the kitchen, pausing when Bruce doesn’t follow. “Uh, you coming?”

“Not yet,” Bruce says, lingering in the hallway. “You go without me.”

Bruce imagines so much. 

He sees Wayne Manor transformed into a shelter. He imagines all the people and children on the streets who could stay there.

He sees himself connecting with the other mutual aid networks in Gotham. He knows he’s committed to this. They could be helping people every day. They just need to know who and where.

It’ll take a lot of transparency. Bruce has already revealed a lot. It’s really not easy… but this is harder than being Batman. It forces Bruce to do better, to be better, to do the things he’s actually afraid of. 

He thinks his parents would like this. 

Bruce snaps out of his trance only when Jim steps into the hall, cheeks glowing. “I was looking for you,” Jim says warmly. “People have been asking for ya. You alright?”

Bruce smiles. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Good,” Gordon wraps an arm around Bruce’s shoulder and pulls him in. “Hey, I’m guessing you got something big planned for next steps, huh? Because whatever it is, Batma— _Bruce_ … I’m in. Full time, anything. You’re right about the police. You’re right about a lot and—”

Jim continues to ramble on and Bruce allows it. 

This is good. This works.

This is the future.


End file.
